April 18, 2011

Full disclosure: I can't catch shit. Wait, that's not true. I can catch a cold (joke writers for Laffy Taffy are probably holding their sides with laughter at that one). And, I probably could catch a bag of marshmallows but you'd have to be up to five feet away, directly facing me and give me advance warning that you are going to throw it at me. That's about it.

When my Dad tosses me my car keys, I defensively hold my hands in front of my face and scream. Usually the keys hit me in my chest or they slip through my hands because, again, I can't catch shit.

So, when a guy catches his car keys mid-air like it ain't no thing but a chicken wing on a string watching the West Wing, I nod in approval. Maybe I'll even get in on the throwing thing and toss him his iPod or a box of Triscuits. He'll catch it every time, like a competent circus seal. And, that rules! The only time I've ever seen him drop anything was when someone threw a snowball at him from roughly 40 feet away. Even then, he almost had it, but whatever. I was still impressed.

Guys who catch things, you can't see me, but I'm tossing a blown kiss at you right now.